I Don't Need You to Kneel
by Broken-Latin
Summary: MorMor. Jim has a short burst of insanity, but he still loves Sebastian. I do not own BBC Sherlock.


I Don't Need You to Kneel

"Sir? Are you alright?" Sebastian looked to the man on the couch. He'd been sitting there for two hours now. It wasn't all that out of the ordinary for him to do that, but today was a good day. Sherlock Holmes had been dead for a whole year.

Jim looked up. "Just thinking." He returned his head to his head to its place in his hands.

Of course. That brilliant mind of his was always thinking. He should have known. "About what?" Sebastian doubted he would be able to understand if it was one of his complex thoughts—he wasn't the brightest person in the world, and Jim's mind was an absolute labyrinth. But he was curious.

"Loyalties." Jim was quiet for a moment. "I'm beginning to realize that I have no one."

Sebastian felt his heart take an unexpected dip to his stomach. "That's not true." He bent down in front of the couch, eliminating their height difference. Jim opened his eyes and gave a soft smile. His hand ruffled Sebastian's light hair.

"Of course I have you, Tiger. You're mine."

Sebastian smiled and leaned into Jim's hand. "Always yours." When he'd first taken this job he would have never even imagined that their relationship would go from simply business to all this. But there was no turning back now. Not that he wanted to.

Sebastian laid his head in Jim's lap, closing his eyes as he pet him. He even purred a little bit. Jim hummed. "Such a good pet. So loyal."

"A tiger is always loyal." Sebastian almost never spoke so calmly and romantically. He always kept his guard up. But when Jim had him there in his lap, praising him like a good pet, all of his walls crumbled. Jim gave a content sigh.

Sebastian opened his eyes, looking into Jim's. Slowly and carefully, he climbed onto the couch, his head still on Jim. They were quiet, just sitting there, Jim's fingers twining in his pet's hair.

"How strange to think that at one point you didn't trust me," Jim mused.

"Things were different then. You tried to come onto me."

"_Were_ they different, Sebastian? I still try to come onto you, among other things."

"Very different." Sebastian knew what was happening. The very changeable Jim Moriarty was going through a personality transition. He braced himself, unable to tell what would happen next nor how the man would behave.

"How is this any different?"

"I've learned to trust you." The look Jim shot him said that he had chosen the wrong words.

"Prove it." In a matter of seconds, Sebastian was pushed onto the floor like an unwanted doll, and Jim was standing over him with a scowl. "Stand up." Sebastian obeyed hastily. "You're to stay there until I return."

Just like that, Jim was gone. Sebastian didn't understand the point of this game, but he didn't dare move. Jim had his moments of pure insanity (this being one of them). But didn't everyone? Jim just . . . he showed it a bit more willingly than most people. So he waited.

The door opened twenty minutes later and Jim entered with a wide smirk. Sebastian didn't know what to do, and fell to his knees, looking up to Jim with wide eyes.

"Oh, 'Basher." Jim sighed as he bent down to place a kiss on the man's forehead. "Stand up," he said. He helped Sebastian to stand, wrapping his arms around the man's neck. "I don't need you to kneel to know you're mine."

Sebastian took a moment to react. He slowly moved his arms to Jim's waist, pulling him close. "Thanks for coming back, _Master_." When he had first taken the job, that had been on the list of names he was allowed to call Jim ('James, 'sir', and 'Jim' were among them, while 'Jimmy' was prohibited). Sebastian had told him there was no way in hell he'd ever say 'master'. It was too weird for him, though Jim seemed to enjoy it on the rare occasions that he could force it out of the man.

Jim was frozen for a minute. "Tiger, you don't have to call me that," he said softly. He was surprised. His 'Basher had never called him that of his own free will.

"I want to."

"Then you may, I suppose." Jim just stood there, head buried in Sebastian's chest. Everything was so perfect. It might not be perfect the next day, maybe not even later that evening, but it was perfect now and that was all that mattered.

.

.

.

A/N:

My teacher and I were talking about Jim and his insanity. And this popped into my brain. I blame my lovely Watson for the whole 'Master' thing. That's her fault. And the line _I don't need you to kneel to know you're mine_ originates in a song by oneoftheexactsciences on tumblr.

I hope you enjoyed my fluffy stuff. It won't last long.

_The author of this fic is not to be held accountable for any nosebleeds, feels, or fangirl squealing that may result of this story._


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